A Summer Idyll

‘Tomorrow?’ she asked.

Susan nodded. ‘Ar past eight, miss, till ’ar past twelve.’ She was putting on her coat. ‘There’s things for supper in the larder—eggs and that.’

Phoebe opened the door, wished her goodbye and closed it quietly. Tea first, she decided, and something to eat. She was famished again, and once Aunt Kate woke she would probably be kept busy.

She put the kettle on, found teapot, tea, a bottle of milk and the sugar bowl and half a packet of digestive biscuits, and presently sat down at the table. It wasn’t much of a meal, but she felt all the better for it and after she had tidied up she poked her head into the larder and assessed its contents. Eggs, some fish on a plate—but only enough for one—bread in the bin, butter, some old cheese and nothing much else. She wondered what the nurse had had to eat, and what, for that matter, she was to eat herself. The cupboards yielded a good supply of flour and oats and rice and sugar though; given time she should be able to whip up some sort of meal for the invalid. She found a tray and put it ready in case Aunt Kate should wake. It was well after four o’clock and perhaps she should take a look.

There was no need, a bell tinkled urgently and Phoebe hurried up the stairs, tapped on her aunt’s door and went in.

Aunt Kate was propped up in bed, swathed in a thick shawl and by no means in a good temper. ‘So there you are,’ she snapped between coughs. ‘And high time too—when a body can’t depend on her own kith and kin taking care of her it’s a poor state of affairs. I don’t know what the world’s coming to!’

Phoebe didn’t know either, and since Aunt Kate’s remarks were exactly the same as the last time they had met, she said merely: ‘I came as soon as the hospital had your message, Aunt Kate, I’m sorry you are ill.’

‘Pooh,’ said Aunt Kate strongly. ‘Fiddlesticks—and don’t think you’ll get a penny piece from me, my girl— I’ve better ways of leaving my money.’ She added quickly: ‘Not that I have any money, living here on my own with no one to bother about me.’

‘The nurse?’ asked Phoebe.

‘Bah—stupid woman, all she could think of was her meals.’ She shot Phoebe a grumpy look, her dark little eyes half closed. ‘Do you eat a lot?’

‘Yes,’ said Phoebe simply. ‘Would you like your tea now?’

Aunt Kate had a fit of coughing. ‘Yes—thin bread and butter with it. When I’ve had it I’ll talk to you.’

It was hard to be sorry for the old lady; she was ill and crippled with arthritis, and Phoebe did her best to pity her as she went back to the kitchen. She made the tea, cut paper-thin bread and butter and at the same time made jam sandwiches for herself, since she was still hungry, and having settled her aunt against her pillows with the tea tray on the bed table, went down again to make another pot of tea to accompany the sandwiches. She had just finished the last of them when Aunt Kate rang the bell.

‘You’ll stay of course,’ she began without preamble. ‘You’re my niece, my great-niece, and it’s your duty.’

‘I’ve been training as a nurse,’ observed Phoebe mildly.

‘Time enough for that after I’ve gone. I’ll not last long that Dr Pritchard says I’m good for a few more years yet, but I know better.’

‘What happened to Dr Bennett?’ asked Phoebe, vaguely remembering a small neat man with a goatee beard who called Aunt Kate ‘dear lady’ and sometimes had stayed for tea.

‘Retired, drat him. Now I have to bear with this little whipper-snapper who takes no notice of me whatsoever.’ Aunt Kate pushed the bed table away impatiently. ‘You can take this; I’ll have a bit of fish for my supper—done in milk, mind—and an egg custard.’

Phoebe took the bed table away and picked up the tray. ‘Tomorrow,’ she said with firm gentleness, ‘perhaps you will give me some money and I’ll buy some food. There’s almost nothing to eat in the house.’

‘My appetite’s poor,’ snapped Aunt Kate.

‘I expect so, but mine isn’t. If I’m to stay, Aunt Kate, then I shall want to be fed, and since I’ve no money of my own, I’m afraid you’ll have to pay me a salary.’

The old lady’s eyes snapped. ‘My own niece demanding a salary?’

‘That’s right. After all, you had to pay the nurse, didn’t you? Private nurses are very expensive.’

Aunt Kate mumbled something in a cross voice and Phoebe was given to understand that she would be given pocket money—the sum mentioned would buy toothpaste and shampoo and tights, but precious little else, but Phoebe was satisfied. It was, after all, a small declaration of independence; if she hadn’t taken a stand then and there, she would have become a doormat.

She took the tea tray downstairs and went back again to wash her aunt’s face and hands and make her bed, chatting cheerfully as she did so. The doctor, her aunt told her grudgingly, came in the morning after surgery; it was he who had insisted on her having a nurse after calling unexpectedly one afternoon and finding her out of bed and struggling to get downstairs to get herself a meal.

‘Why not the district nurse?’ asked Phoebe.

‘Won’t have her near me,’ declared Aunt Kate, and Phoebe sighed; the old lady took fierce dislikes to some people and no amount of inconvenience to other people would alter that. ‘Nothing more than a baggage, that nurse Dr Pritchard made me have. Always looking at herself in the glass, wanting time off, if you please, said she needed recreation.’ Aunt Kate gave a weary little snort. ‘As though she had anything to do here! Susan cleans the house.’

Phoebe held her tongue and then asked what time she wanted her supper.

‘Half past seven, and no later. And mind you do that fish in milk.’

Phoebe left a bedside light on, laid spectacles, book, handkerchief and bell within reach and took herself off to the kitchen. The fish looked unappetising; a morsel of creamed potato might brighten it up a bit, and she could purée a few carrots.

She had just set the egg custard in its pan of warm water when the front door was opened. Susan couldn’t have closed it properly and she hadn’t bothered to look herself. It might be a neighbour, but she doubted that; Aunt Kate didn’t encourage neighbours; she ought to go into the hall and see who it was, but if she did the custard might spoil if she didn’t get it into the oven at once.

Her decision was made for her. The kitchen door, half open, was flung wide and a large man came in. He was tall as well as broad with fair hair, cut short; a handsome face and a decidedly brisk manner.

‘So you got here,’ he stated with satisfaction. ‘Thought I’d make sure you had arrived, otherwise it would have been the district nurse and fireworks. What’s your name?’

‘Phoebe Creswell.’ Phoebe frowned. ‘What’s yours?’

‘Pritchard, George.’ He held out a hand and smiled and she didn’t feel put out any more; he had a smile which was nice, friendly and reassuring. ‘I hope your aunt is pleased to see you.’

Phoebe closed the door gently on the custard. ‘Well, yes, I think on the whole she is.’

He nodded. ‘Good. She’s ill, you know that.’ His gaze swept round the kitchen and stayed on the fish. ‘Her supper?’ he wanted to know. ‘What about you?’

She was touched that he had thought of that. ‘Well, there’s nothing much in the house—I can’t think what the nurse had to eat. I’ll make some toasted cheese.’ The small nose twitched; she was hungry again. After all, she hadn’t had much to eat all day—a good cooked dinner. Her mouth watered at the thought.

‘I’m on the other side of the green. When I’ve done my rounds I’ll send my housekeeper over to sit here while you have supper with me. No, don’t argue, it’ll give me a chance to explain your aunt’s case to you and discuss medicines and so on.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘About eight o’clock. Right?’

Phoebe nodded happily. If this was Aunt Kate’s little whipper-snapper then she liked him. She closed the door after him and went back to her cooking. Life was suddenly full of promise. She hadn’t thought of Basil even once.

CHAPTER TWO

AUNT KATE, while showing no gratitude for her supper, ate all of it, reminded Phoebe that she would have a glass of hot milk at nine o’clock precisely and told her grudgingly that she might go downstairs and eat her own meal. But first she needed her pillows shaken up, her spectacles, glass of water, and the local newspaper. Only then did she add: ‘At least your cooking is passable, and don’t forget my milk.’ She added: ‘I shall be perfectly all right for an hour or so. When you’ve cleared up you can unpack your things.’

‘Yes, Aunt Kate.’ Phoebe spoke mildly, her thoughts on supper.

She had had the forethought to leave the front door on the latch, and before she had done more than clear the tray, a thin elderly woman came quietly in. She was dressed in a thick skirt and a grey cardigan, which, with her pepper-and-salt hair cut severely short and her pale face, gave Phoebe the impression that she was looking at an etching. They shook hands and she changed her mind. Mrs Thirsk had the bluest eyes she had ever met, and when she smiled her whole face lit up.

‘Supper’s on the table, Miss…’

‘Call me. Phoebe, please, Mrs Thirsk.’

‘Phoebe.’ The smile came and went again. ‘But I’ll just see to these…’

‘You leave them. The doctor said you were to go straight over.’ She studied Phoebe’s small, too thin figure. ‘You look as though you could do with a good hot meal.’

‘Oh, I could—there’s been no time…’

‘And nothing in the house, I’ll be bound.’ Mrs Thirsk went to the sink and filled the bowl with water from the kettle. ‘I’ve brought my knitting,’ she stated. ‘Take your jacket, it’s chilly.’

Phoebe nodded, slung her cardigan over her shoulders and went out of the house, across the green, to tap on the solid wooden door of the doctor’s house. It was a good deal grander than her aunt’s, of white bricks, with a tiled roof and Elizabethan chimneypots to match and latticed windows. She stood back to get a better view just as the door was opened.

‘Come in,’ invited Dr Pritchard, ‘it’s rabbit stew with dumplings—one of Mrs Thirsk’s masterpieces.’

The hall was square, with a curved staircase to one side of it and several doors leading from it. The floor was of flagstones covered for the most part with rugs with a carved chest along one wall. A large black labrador pranced to meet Phoebe as she went in, sniffed her fist and barked cheerfully.

‘Beauty,’ said Dr Pritchard, ‘I hope you like dogs?’

‘Oh, yes, but I’ve never had one of my own.’ She gave him a rather shy smile. ‘I like cats too.’

‘In the kitchen,’ he said briefly, ‘a basket full of them; Venus has just had kittens.’

He pushed open one of the doors and she went past him into the sitting room, a low-ceilinged, beamed and cosily furnished room, with chairs pulled up to the log fire in the wide hearth.

‘You could do with a glass of sherry,’ stated the doctor, and handed her one before she could answer. ‘Do sit down.’

They didn’t talk much as they had their drinks, only a few questions and answers; how long was it since she had been there? How far was she with her training? Did she intend to resume that later on?

To all of which she replied a little vaguely, since she hadn’t really thought about it yet. And over supper the doctor kept the conversation on general topics while they ate with healthy appetites. It was only when they had carried the dishes to the kitchen, admired Venus and her kittens and taken the coffee tray into the sitting room that he started to tell her about Aunt Kate.

‘Of course, she can’t last out much longer,’ he explained. ‘She’s worn out and her heart is already weak. I’ve done what I can, but she refuses to go into hospital or a nursing home and the nurse I arranged for was given short shift. How about you? You’ve not had much to say so far.’

‘Well, I’ve not had much time to think about it, have I? Phoebe’s quiet face was turned to the fire. ‘Of course, I shall stay even if Aunt Kate dislikes it, and she will in a few days, even though she insisted on my coming. She’s never liked anyone in the family and I’m the only one left now. She says it’s my duty.’

She glanced at the doctor watching her intently. ‘There’s nothing else to do,’ she added simply. ‘But I’d much rather not.’

‘Any ties?’ he asked idly, and when she looked puzzled. ‘Boy-friends and so forth?’

Phoebe went pink. ‘No.’ She had the urge to tell him all about Basil and how coming to Aunt Kate’s had solved that problem for her, but after all, she had only just met him. When she didn’t say anything he said slowly: ‘Well, that makes things easier, doesn’t it? Now, as to treatment…’

He was all at once the doctor.

‘When he had finished she said: ‘I’ll do my best, Dr Pritchard. Do you come every day to see Aunt Kate?’

‘Oh, yes. Just a quick check up, you know.’ He smiled at her very kindly. ‘And don’t forget to pass on any problems, however small.’

It seemed the right moment to go and he made no effort to keep her, but walked across the green to her aunt’s door and waited until Mrs Thirsk opened it, said a few brief words to Phoebe and went back with her. Phoebe, closing the door slowly, watched them go, comforted by the fact that they were within shouting distance.

Aunt Kate was sitting up in bed reading. As Phoebe went in she looked up and asked: ‘My milk—is it ready? It’s more than time—and I have some pills to take.’

‘Yes, Aunt, I’ll fetch the milk now and your pills. Is there anything I can do for you before you have them?’

Aunt Kate rapped out a list of small wants. ‘And mind you lock up properly,’ she ended breathlessly ‘I never trusted that other creature.’ She fell into a fit of coughing and finally gasped crossly: ‘For heaven’s sake, Phoebe, don’t just stand there!’

It took almost an hour to settle Aunt Kate for the night. When she was at last satisfied that everything had been done to her satisfaction, she lay back against her pillows, allowed Phoebe to shade the bedside light and declared herself ready for sleep. ‘And don’t forget that I like my tea at seven o’clock,’ she commanded as Phoebe bade her goodnight.

There were chores to do downstairs, but presently she locked up and went to her room where she unpacked and undressed. The room looked better already with her own things scattered round it. Tomorrow she would get some flowers and look in the cupboard on the landing and see if there was a more colourful bedspread.

Aunt Kate was asleep, looking old and frail, so that Phoebe, peeping round the door, felt a pang of real pity. With any luck, she would sleep the night through. Phoebe crept into the bathroom on the other side of the landing and turned on the old-fashioned geyser and presently sank into a hot bath. The day had been long and eventful and she was tired. It was an effort to get herself out and into her bed, and once there she was asleep at once.

She was used to getting up early. She was downstairs in the kitchen in her dressing gown making tea when Aunt Kate rang her bell. Phoebe picked up the tea tray and hurried upstairs, to find the old lady irritable and impatient.

‘Still in your dressing gown?’ she wanted to know. ‘I hope you’re not lazy…’

Phoebe wished her good morning, sat her up against freshly shaken pillows and offered her pills and tea. ‘I’ll dress while you drink your tea, and then I’ll freshen you up before breakfast.’

She prudently didn’t wait for Aunt Kate to disagree, but whisked herself back to her own room, got into a grey wool dress which did nothing for her at, all, tied her hair back with a ribbon to save time, and went back to Aunt Kate.

Aunt Kate was as firmly against being washed and put into a clean nightie as Phoebe was determined that this was to be done. Phoebe won. A stint on Women’s Medical Ward had taught her how to get round elderly ladies who wanted to do exactly the opposite of what was asked of them; calm, kindness and never-ending patience were three virtues she had acquired and she was by nature a kind girl. Aunt Kate, almost without realising it, found herself washed, clad in another of her old-fashioned nightgowns, her hair combed and pinned into a tidy knot, and then she was lifted into a bedside chair, where she sat watching clean sheets being put on her bed and wearily scolding at the extra washing which would have to be done. Phoebe popped her back into bed while she was still complaining. ‘There,’ she said, ‘isn’t that better? I’ll get your breakfast.’

Coddled egg, thin bread and butter and a cup of tea, nicely arranged on a tray—even Aunt Kate could find no fault with that. Phoebe went back to the kitchen and boiled an egg, made some toast and a pot of tea and sat down at the table to eat her own breakfast, while she made a list of the shopping which had to be done. She hadn’t finished when Susan arrived, accepted a cup of tea, and declared her intention of giving the kitchen a good going over. ‘But I’ll tidy up first, miss, only Miss Mason don’t much like me in her room.’

‘Then I’ll do it—you see to the rest of the house, Susan, just as you always do. Dr Pritchard doesn’t come until after surgery, does he? I’ll go out as soon as I’ve seen to my aunt and do the shopping.’

Aunt Kate had eaten most of her breakfast. ‘And what do you fancy for your lunch?’ enquired Phoebe. ‘I’m going to the shops presently. What about a morsel of chicken and potato with some mashed parsnips?’

‘Chicken costs a lot of money,’ observed Miss Mason.

‘Cheaper than meat, Aunt Kate. And I’ll get a marrow bone and make soup—that’s nice with toast for supper.’ She added carefully: ‘I’ll need some money.’

Aunt Kate put her hand under the bedclothes and withdrew a purse, she had sat with it in her hand while Phoebe had made the bed. ‘I’m a poor old woman,’ she said with mournful mendacity. ‘We’ll be starving at this rate.’

‘I’m a good manager,’ Phoebe assured her, ‘but there really is nothing in the larder, and you need good nourishing food. The milkman called just now and said you only had a pint every other day; I asked him to leave a pint each day. I can make milk puddings and custards which won’t cost much and will do you good.’ She added cunningly: ‘There’s masses of rice in the kitchen cupboard, and semolina too—no need to buy those for weeks.’

‘You’ll use up everything there is,’ demanded Aunt Kate, ‘and not waste my money!’

Phoebe was nipping round the room with a duster; she could have written her name on the old-fashioned mantlepiece. Obviously the nurse had either not bothered, or Aunt Kate had refused to let her keep the room clean, let alone tidy. The floor could do with a good Hoovering, only she doubted if Aunt Kate had such a thing in the house. Oblivious to her aunt’s complaining voice, she wiped down the ledges and the table tops, and collected newspapers, pacifying her aunt with the paper which had just arrived. Promising to be back to give her her elevenses, she got a jacket and let herself out of the house. It was only just after nine o’clock and the street was quiet, although there were several cars outside the doctor’s house, Phoebe walked the short distance to where the shops were—the butcher’s, the general store and Post Office, and tucked in between these, a bow-fronted window full of small antiques. She paused a moment to peer at these before opening the door of the stores. There was no one in the shop, but the old-fashioned bell at the door brought a small round woman from the door behind the counter.

‘Miss Mason’s niece,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Susan said you was come.’

Phoebe offered a hand over the counter. ‘Phoebe Creswell,’ she said politely.

‘Mrs Platt. Come to stock up a bit, ‘ave you? By all accounts there weren’t much in the house. Can’t say I blame that nurse—not that I liked her, mind you—a stuck-up piece if ever there was one.’

She studied Phoebe’s pleasant not quite pretty face and nodded. ‘Now what’s it to be?’

Phoebe studied her list. She had whittled it down as far as she dared, for Aunt Kate hadn’t been over-generous with the housekeeping. Luckily Mrs Platt was sympathetic; Phoebe made her purchases, bought some stamps for herself and went to the butcher next door. He obliged with a piece of chicken, a large bone and two lamb chops, made the observation that it was a pleasure to have her for a customer, and bade her a cheerful good morning. At least the people were friendly, she thought, and the morning was bright and the sky blue. Life could be far worse. Just for the moment she allowed her thoughts to dwell upon Basil, but only for a moment; he wasn’t worth wasting time over. She went back into the house, watched, if she did but know it, by Dr Pritchard, pausing between patients. Only when she had closed the door behind her did he press his buzzer and turn an impersonally friendly face to his next patient.

Phoebe put away her purchases, made a neat list of what she had spent, and took it upstairs with her aunt’s egg and milk. She listened to Aunt Kate’s tirade over the cost of everything without rancour, handed over the change and observed that she was going to find out from Susan where she could buy vegetables. She slipped away before her aunt could argue.

Susan was a mine of information. Her own dad had a tidy bit of garden, she could bring anything within reason any time she was asked, she said.

So Phoebe made another list, argued prices with Susan and went back upstairs to ask for the money. ‘Far cheaper than I could buy in a shop,’ she pointed out cheerfully, ‘and Susan will bring just as much as we need; there won’t be any waste.’ And this argument appealed to Aunt Kate, who produce the purse once more.

Susan had done her best with the kitchen. Phoebe shared the Nescafé with her, and, left alone, began on the lunch. She was peeling potatoes when Dr Pritchard came in. His ‘Hullo,’ was brisk and friendly. ‘I never knock,’ he advised her. ‘Susan’s always sweeping and dusting and I know my way around.’ He gave her a quick look. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Me? Oh yes, thank you. Aunt Kate had a good night, she’s got a very rapid pulse and a bit of a temperature; I’ve written them down upstairs. She ate most of her breakfast and took her pills.’

‘Then we’ll have a look at her, shall we?’

We waited while she washed her hands and then followed her upstairs.

Aunt Kate received him with a testy observation that she didn’t need him, that she was feeling better and that if she wanted him to visit she would send a message.

To all of which he merely nodded his handsome head, observed that it was nice to see her looking so much better and that he would take a look at her chest now that he was there.

He was kind and gentle, waiting patiently while she coughed and grumbled, struggling for breath. He put his stethoscope away presently and sat down by the bed to enquire in a leisurely fashion just how she felt.

The old lady cast him a waspish look. ‘None the better for seeing you, young man. I doubt you know anything about me—all I need is a bottle of tonic to get me on my feet and something to ease the cough.’

It was no good talking to Aunt Kate about antibiotics, Phoebe could see that, and Dr Pritchard didn’t really try, he remarked that it was early days for a tonic to be of much use but that he would send over a bottle of something to help the cough.

Phoebe’s eyes flew to the bottles already arranged tidily on the chest of drawers, some only half finished. She looked away and caught the doctor’s eye, a limpid stare which forbade her to make any comments about the half-empty bottles. It was as they went downstairs and she was on the point of opening the door for him that he said: ‘Your aunt forgets easily. Pop over to the surgery in about half an hour, I’ll give you a bottle of linctus; keep on with the antibiotics. Her heart’s weaker, but there’s nothing much I can do for congestive heart failure at this stage.’

‘I’ll take care of her,’ said Phoebe. ‘You’ll—you’ll come if I’m worried? There’s no phone…’

‘I’ll come.’ He nodded and strode off across the green. Perhaps she should have offered him a cup of coffee, she thought, watching his broad back disappearing into his house.